


Over The Fence

by Melethril



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternative Season 1/2, Always in the third person, Dixon brother dynamics, Jacqui is amazing and deserved more love, M/M, Merle Dixon is a warning in itself, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Daryl Dixon, POV Jesus (Walking Dead), Pretty sure this counts as slow burn, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29160990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melethril/pseuds/Melethril
Summary: The tool box was out of Merle's reach. That's all it took to change the fate of the group in Atlanta.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & Carol Peletier, Daryl Dixon & Jesus, Daryl Dixon & Merle Dixon, Daryl Dixon & Rick Grimes, Daryl Dixon/Jesus, Group dynamics - Relationship
Comments: 51
Kudos: 76





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LottaCharlene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottaCharlene/gifts).



> Hi all-
> 
> First, to my Lucifer readers: I am still working on my Fallen Angel story, but I needed a break after that last chapter because it was quite draining to write my two lovers so at odds.
> 
> To my handful of TWD readers:  
> \- This is only marginally connected to my The Walking Dead AU series, although the premise is similar. The group dynamics are and will be different. If my muse wills it, I will continue with the one-shots, but for now, I wanted to write a multi-chap story with different dynamics.  
> \- Yes, this is Desus, although Paul won't appear before Chapter 2 (Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2). Bear with me, I need to establish the characters. Just like in my last Desus story, there's a POV switch between the two (except Prologue and Epilogue with another POV)
> 
> What else?
> 
> As always, my stories are self-explanatory, but just a few things that are important for this AU:  
> \- Atlanta group: Andrea and Amy found shelter elsewhere, they were never part of the group.  
> \- Greene family: The biggest change concerns the Greene family. To change up dynamics a little bit and for you to understand what happened: Beth died four years before the apocalypse at age 12/3, when Maggie was 18/19. I am sorry for doing that to the Beth fans among you, but I had to cut down on characters and Beth was basically invisible in season 2 and I would have had no idea how to weave her into the story without giving her too much attention or completely ignoring her. So, the Greene family has come to terms with that loss, but due to walkers, the only people remaining on that farm are Hershel, Otis and Maggie. Otis has very recently lost Patricia, she was the last one to go.  
> \- Age differences: I go with character age as according to first appearences, meaning: Daryl is forty like Norman was in Season 1 and Paul is 34, which is around the age that Tom was when he appeared in Season 6, so the age difference is not quite so big between the two characters.  
> \- Timeline: The apocalypse happened in 2015
> 
> Have fun!

Daryl and Merle Dixon were cut from the same cloth. Both abrasive rednecks down to the last pore, troublemakers that could not be trusted, both short-tempered assholes. Rick had arrested a lot of guys like these two in his time; they were a dime a dozen and barely worth a second thought. You knew one, you knew them all.

Still, they could not leave the older Dixon up on that roof, dying of exposure, and they could not let Daryl go there all by himself; it was Rick’s fault that Merle was tied up on that roof in the first place, and T-Dog felt guilty for dropping the keys. Ultimately, even though Lori was less than thrilled about it, both T-Dog and Rick felt like they needed to go and put things right.

Shane had tried to talk him out of it, _“That first evening they came to the camp, Rick, you should have seen them. Two worthless rednecks who wouldn’t think twice about leaving you behind. I felt eyes on me all day before they showed up; they were stalking us, probably planning on robbing us blind, not to mention what they would have done to the women.”_

_“We need the guns and the ammo, and you’ve seen Daryl handle the walkers. The only way we get him to cooperate is by getting his brother. We’re doing this. I got your back if things get out of hand. We’ll handle this once the group’s back together.”_

Just a few hours after that conversation, they were running to the top of the building where they had last seen Merle. Daryl was far ahead of them, effortlessly taking two steps at a time, reminding Rick cruelly just how much muscle mass he still had to build up before he was back to what he used to be. Glenn was fast and fit, but he fell behind Rick and T-Dog, clearly terrified of the Dixon brothers.

 _“Merle!”_ Rick heard Daryl shout; the sound of snapping metal made it clear that he had opened the chain already. _“No!”_

The desperate cry had them all move up much faster.

Merle was unconscious, around him were the bodies of three walkers who had obviously squeezed themselves past the door. All had their heads bashed in and their broken bodies made Rick’s stomach churn. Oh, he knew Merle had been forced to do that in order to survive, but the fact that he had been able to defend himself in such a manner also told the former sheriff deputy just how dangerous he was. Daryl was by his brother’s side, checking the unconscious body for bites.

Rick’s hand slipped to his holster. If Merle was bit, there was no way to predict how Daryl would react to that. They all exhaled when the younger Dixon proclaimed that Merle was fine, just passed out from exposure. He then quickly released his brother from the handcuffs and threw them over the edge of the roof.

“Wake up, bro, I’m here. You gonna be okay.” His voice was gentle, utterly belying the man’s general abrasiveness.

“Daryl?” Merle’s rough voice was weak, barely audible, but Rick was relieved to hear it.

“’S me, we came back to get you.” Cautiously, Daryl’s right hand examined his brother’s sunburn, while he grabbed his water bottle with his left and tenderly wetted the other man’s split lips with some water who tried to go directly for the water, which was snatched away instantly. “Careful, man, you must be dried out from the Atlanta heat. “

“Hm,” muttered Merle, drinking small gulps of water. Disoriented, he opened his eyes and looked at Daryl.

What happened next reaffirmed Rick’s earlier impression of Daryl.

“Did you get fuckin’ high?” asked Daryl, his facial expression from soft and understanding to absolutely furious within a matter of seconds.

Merle’s expression, barely fully aware, crumbled, “Daryl…”

“No, fuck you!” Just like when they had told him that Merle was tied to a roof in Atlanta ( _‘and you left him there?!’_ ), the younger man sounded like he was very close to tearing up. “They said you was out of control, but they didn’t tell me you were fucking stupid enough to get high. Was that why you went with them in first place? Fuck you.”

With that he turned and walked toward the staircase, not bothering to help his brother. Merle, weak from exposure, and definitely already going through the first stages of meth-withdrawal, whimpered, “Daryl, please…”

Rick moved to help him.

“No, leave him!” barked Daryl. “He fucking deserves to crawl.”

Hesitatingly, T-Dog followed the order, while Glenn stood by the staircase already looking miserable. Rick, knowing better than to step into the middle of this particular family-conflict, followed suit.

Merle, in pain and clearly distraught, tried to follow his brother; he was effectively crawling, begging for Daryl’s understanding, “Don’t leave. Please. Daryl…”

Rick, who understood the younger Dixon’s fury, could not listen to the arrogant asshole’s cries for mercy, but just when he was about to help Merle up (fully aware it would not be appreciated and probably met with physical violence and verbal abuse), a wounded growl escaped Daryl’s throat before he stalked over to help Merle.

“Next time, I ain’t coming after you, you stupid piece of shit. Next time, I’ll let you- You risked all of our lives with this stunt!” he barked before saying quietly, “Some brother you are, risking my skin for a high.”

He roughly helped Merle up and told the rest to get the hell out of this place. T-Dog lingered for a moment to get the scattered tools to appease Dale. They decided it was best to first head back to the car before they got the weapons because otherwise someone would have to stay with Merle to make sure no walker got to him down in the streets. The older Dixon was agitated, very anxious, which Rick knew to be signs of meth-withdrawal. He prayed that the older man had already sweated out most of his withdrawal-induced delirium while on that roof, or some hellish days would be ahead for all of them (more hellish than what seemed to be the rule these days, at least).

Thanks to Glenn’s strategic mind, they got the bag of weapons without a hitch. The only thing that briefly held them back was Daryl who stopped by a vending machine, reached into his pocket and used some change to buy candy. Somehow, Rick felt like he was intruding: it was clear that Daryl was using his last bit of money as he plucked the change from a battered wallet, and, even though money had no meaning anymore, the scene sufficiently demonstrated to Rick just how poor the Dixon family had to be.

Apart from that, it was surreal watching him patiently wait for the candy to fall down after they had seen him break into buildings without hesitation. They all stared at the redneck, confused.

“What?” hissed Daryl quietly. “Walkers are nearby, can’t draw them here for nothin’.”

“You hungry?” asked Glenn, voicing what they all thought.

“Nah,” was the reply. “’S carbs. Better’n’nothin’”

Rick then remembered that meth withdrawal could cause massive carb cravings, but he did not enlighten the other two, just quietly followed Daryl who was the first to advance the white van with his brother inside.

“You two go up front. I’ll stay with them,” said Rick and followed Daryl into the back of the white van. Merle was badly off and Daryl was slowly and carefully giving him some more water. The older Dixon was severely sunburnt, probably massively dehydrated from the heat and lack of water. His breathing was rapid and he was only semi-conscious.

“His pulse’s erratic,” said Daryl, now tending to the wrist that was mangled from Merle trying to slip out of it. Rick had tightened it just a bit too much. “Can’t tell if it’s from withdrawal or exposure, though. Stupid son of a bitch. He’ll do a lot’a sleepin’ in the near future. Why didn’t you say he was high?”

Rick frowned, “I assumed you knew.”

Daryl shook his head, “He was doin’ good. Knew he couldn’t risk it. Asshole.”

As if noticing his brother’s fury, Merle regained some consciousness, if only to a point. He started tossing and turning, and Daryl grabbed his shoulders to keep him from hurting himself. That caused a massive anxiety attack from the much stronger man.

“Get off me!” hissed Merle and slammed Daryl against the back of the truck, then – as quick as a striking snake – launched forward and punched his brother across the jaw; Rick winced in sympathy, already seeing the bruise form. Obviously not a stranger to taking punches, Daryl evaded his brother’s second attack and grabbed his arms from behind.

“Get off me!” shouted Merle again and again, but he was too weak to attack again. Daryl muttered quietly into Merle’s ear, calming him down bit by bit. Through the calm sounds of the engine, Rick heard pieces of what Daryl was saying, and it turned out to be some old Native American folktale.

“…and so Yahula was lost and they thought he was dead, mourning him. But then, one morning, he was with them again, walked with them as if he had never left. He told them that he was lost in the mountains and survived only thanks to the _Nunnehi_ , the immortals. But because he had tasted their food, nothing made by humans could nourish him again, so he had to go back. In the beginning, he visited often, but the inquiries of the tribe became so insistent that the _Nunnehi_ likely forbade him to return, and he came no more. Remember that rock we found? I swear that’s Yahula’s home and the creek also bears his name. Damn, I wish I had heard the old songs they used to sing. Sometimes, whenever I camped close by as a kid, I swear I could hear the songs in the cool winds of the night. Was never stupid enough to hum along, though, bad things happen to those who do…”

Rick listened, quite captivated by the redneck’s low, rough drawl.

The drive took no time at all and they were back in camp, relieved to see that everyone was safe. Rick and Glenn helped Daryl move a delirious Merle from the van to a spot in the shade beneath the trees because Daryl insisted that putting him inside of a tent could lead to him hurting himself. His sole focus was on Merle, his actions gentle and sure. Everyone in camp was wary of approaching him, except for Rick who brought another bottle of water, which Daryl used to rehydrate his brother.

“Y’all ain’t got nothin’ to do?” snarled Daryl when he noticed that all eyes were on him. He avoided looking at anyone directly as he said it and Rick knew that cagey behavior well enough to confirm that this man was bad news. He obviously loved his brother, but as far as Daryl Dixon was concerned, everyone else could go straight to hell. He was as volatile as his brother, though less likely to be an actual danger in a fight. Not that he was less deadly if he put his mind to it, he was just more likely to snarl before becoming violent.

Rick exchanged a look with Shane who rolled his eyes at the other man’s behavior, and the two former deputy sheriffs smirked at each other. Rick could practically hear Shane say, _‘Get a load of this redneck asshole’_. They all left him alone after that, though, and went about their day.

This, of course, led to a short retelling of what happened today in the quarry.

“You serious, Shane?”

“Oh, don’t you dare patronize me for this, Rick. Peletier hit her-“

“And you beat him to a bloody pulp?” asked Rick disbelievingly. “We’re cops, man, we were trained-“

“No, we ain’t. Not anymore,” said Shane. “That life’s over. We gotta protect the group and Peletier was a danger to Carol and Sophia.”

“Yet she’s still with him,” protested Rick, frustrated. “Damn it, you know how this works. How many times have we witnessed…“ He stopped because he could see that Shane was more than a little agitated. “What’s done is done. Let’s plan our next steps. We can’t go into enemy territory with two men badly off.”

Shane scoffed.

“Ed may be a useless piece of shit, but I watched Merle Dixon shoot walkers from a rooftop while methed out of his mind,” said Rick. “Besides, Daryl’s a hunter. That will come in handy.”

“He’s also an abrasive, prickly, loudmouthed shitbag with a short temper. Not sure if one makes up for the other,” Shane pointed out.

Rick semi-nodded; he agreed, but he needed to look at the bright side, “Yeah, but let’s see. Fort Benning’s far off and we might not come across a town for a while. Might need someone who can handle himself in the woods.”

All of Shane’s protest died off, just as Rick had hoped. He looked surprised and expressed that kind of vulnerability he only ever showed around Rick, “You’re with me then? Go to Fort Benning as our next stop?”

“We shouldn’t be hanging around here and the city’s too dangerous. Fort Benning’s far away, but our best shot,” Rick said.

With a semi-smile, the first genuine smile he had seen on his best friend in ages, Shane patted his shoulder, “Alright, man, let’s get packing. Tomorrow, we leave.”

And that was what they did. At some point, before dark, they ate dinner. Jacqui took a bowl and brought it over to Daryl who had not left his brother’s side.

“Here,” Rick heard her say.

“’S too rich. He’ll hurl if he eats this,” said Daryl after catching a glimpse at tonight’s dinner.

“It’s not for him, hon-,” she began, but she caught herself and Southern hospitality was replaced by a cool, distant tone. “You haven’t eaten all day.”

Daryl avoided her gaze as he took the food. When she walked away to join the others, he unexpectantly muttered, “Thanks.”

The sun was setting slowly and they were all ready to leave at first light when Merle stirred for the first time since arriving at camp. His unfocused eyes immediately settled on Daryl who was sporting the first signs of a rather impressive shiner.

“Mom?”

It took all but his first word to show that he may be awake but not lucid. His eyes fell on the bruise almost instantly. “Gotta be quiet. Go to the nursery, I’ll-“ a whine of fear escaped the burly man and it caused a shiver to run down Rick’s spine. The older Dixon then stared past Daryl into the window of a truck and whatever he saw caused him to flinch. “He’s here. Go.”

Daryl looked utterly miserable, reached out and said, so quietly Rick had to guess rather than actually heard, “Y’ain’t him, I ain’t her, Merle. Come back to me, bro.”

“Daryl,” now Merle’s voice assumed a sense of urgency, and he struggled to get up. “What’re you doing out here? Go to your room, hide under the bed and put your hands over your ears. Everythin’ll be fine. I’ll talk to daddy.”

The younger man’s lips visibly trembled and Rick felt once more like he was intruding on a family matter.

“He ain’t ever gonna hurt you, I promise.” His eyes were again trained on what Rick suddenly realized was his own reflection. “Go! He’s here.”

Daryl moved into his older brother’s field of view and said quietly, “Go back to sleep.”

He then looked at Dale, “You got books in that trailer of yours?”

“Not very good ones,” said Dale, but went inside regardless. When he returned, he had _A Tale of Two Cities_ clutched in his hand, smiling cautiously. “Found a classic.”

Daryl muttered his thanks and opened the book. Without properly looking at the first page, he began narrating in that surprisingly soothing voice of his.

“ _’It was the best of times, it was the worst of times._ ’ Huh, I’m pretty sure we got you beat there, asshole,” he muttered causing Lori to press her lips together to keep herself from laughing out loud; yet, her eyes shone with tears, clearly having put together the violent Dixon family history. She was not a sheriff deputy’s wife for nothing. “ _’It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way…_ ’”

For some reason the entire scene was unexpected: there was Merle falling back asleep to his brother reading a Dickens classic with a fluent ease that surprised Rick; he had assumed Daryl was semi-literate at best, and being so wrong about the younger man rattled him.

He stopped reading once he was sure Merle was out, not realizing that he had drawn an audience. Instead, he just flung the book back at Dale who narrowly caught it.

“Thanks.”

Into the quiet, not wanting to put Daryl in the defensive again, Rick talked a bit more about their plans to go to Fort Benning. He noticed that Morales was and T-Dog did not look like they were fully on board with the plan, but neither said anything, remaining silent as they had when Shane and Rick decided that they should start striking camp.

Suddenly, Daryl shot up, and grabbed his crossbow.

“What?” hissed Shane. It was getting dark and Rick had trouble seeing anything.

Daryl’s night-vision was apparently much better, and he hissed, “Walkers. Get ready.”

In this exact moment, they heard a scream from Ed Peletier’s tent. Lori managed to grab Carol before she could run to her husband. They rounded everyone up, men in the front (except for Merle, whom Daryl had practically carried to the fire near Lori and Carl), women in the back. With the weapons at the ready and everyone more or less rested, they managed to fight off the small horde without too many losses.

Still, Ed Peletier and Jim died that night, one torn to shreds, the other taken out by a bite to the neck. He seemed at peace, though, looking forward to seeing his family again. It showed Rick how messed up this world was; no father should have to go through losing his baby girls and boys. It went against the natural order of things, but here, since the Turn, it was becoming the rule. He held onto Carl for the rest of the night, thanking God he had not insisted on taking his boy.

He hoped Fort Benning would give them all the safety they craved. They would get up with the sunrise, bury their dead and leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> \- https://www.verywellmind.com/what-to-expect-from-meth-withdrawal-22358  
> \- https://ancestralfindings.com/american-folklore-georgia/  
> \- https://www.sacred-texts.com/nam/cher/motc/motc125.htm  
> \- http://www.northerncherokeenation.com/yahula.html


	2. Through the Woods/Over The Fence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group gets to recover at a farm for a few days, but all hell breaks loose. In the end of it, they make a number of new friends, however.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to LottaCharlene for all her help with this story and thank you, reader, for… reading, kudosing, and commenting :-)
> 
> Warning: Merle wakes up, so… Merle? Casual racism, bigotry stereotypes, the whole shebang; also stereotypes/bigotry on Daryl’s part; he still needs to learn beyond thinking in Merle’s patterns. This – especially the first – warning is a common thread throughout this story. Will only point out extremes from now on.

Merle was still only slowly recovering from being fried in the sun for over a day. A part of Daryl wanted to stay angry at the pricks for leaving him up there, but on the other hand, Daryl knew what his brother was like when he was high on meth. It was a miracle T-Dog had not been worse off from the inevitable fight Merle had provoked (again, not that they told him that, but Daryl had seen the bruise and T-Dog did not strike Daryl as a brawler).

“No, no, no,” muttered Merle in his sleep, anxiety still having a tight grip on him. Daryl hated seeing him like this, always had. It pained him to once again face that fact that he just was not good enough to keep Merle on the straight and narrow. Sheila had been right about that.

Before dwelling too much on dark thoughts, he helped the rest dispose of the last corpses and bury the bodies of their dead (at the Chinese kid’s – Glenn Rhee, if he remembered correctly – insistence). The morning was quiet and just after getting Merle inside of the truck, he saw that the Peletier lady, Carol, was struggling with some of the things she was putting in Grimes’ car. Her eyes had not dried since this morning and he could see how it puzzled some of them, having clearly noticed what kind of an asshole Ed Peletier was.

They were all idiots, though, not understanding just how thin the line between love and hatred could be with some folks. Daryl had grown up with his parents, though. He knew.

So did her little girl.

He went over and helped Carol out.

“Thank you,” she said quietly and Daryl just nodded. What was there left to say?

_‘Sorry you lost the piece of shit’_

_‘You’re better off without him.’_

_‘At least, the little girl is now free of him.’_ That last thought made him shudder. The way Peletier had looked at Sophie was not how any father should look at their children. Merle was good at intimidating people, though; he had smirked at Ed, and the coward folded like a house of cards, not daring to do anything with Daryl’s big brother nearby.

It was not the hunter’s place to point out any of that and she did not want to hear it anyway. Instead, he looked around to see if everyone else was ready to leave, and saw that the lady who had brought him dinner yesterday, Jacqui, was talking to T-Dog. He was grabbing her wrists and Daryl instantly drew closer in case she did not approve of the move. Her expression was fond, though, and she was smiling a bit. T-Dog did not.

“I thought you wanted to head for the coast,” Daryl heard Jacqui say calmly. “Alabama is the opposite of that. They want to be with their people, but this is not at all what you wanted.”

“Sure, but this is our last chance of leaving the group,” said T-Dog, not letting go off her. “You seriously wanna hang around with two good-old-boy cowboy sheriffs and two rednecks one of whom has made absolutely clear what he thinks of me. I ain’t hanging around to see what’ll happen to me. You should come with us.”

Jacqui shook her head. “I’m needed here,” said she. “Carol just became a widow and while I have no love for Ed Peletier, she certainly did. Lori and Carol need someone else to back them up.”

“And who backs you up?” asked T-Dog angrily. “’Cause Lori looks to her husband and will back him up when things go awry and things have not been going anyone’s way for weeks. Carol won’t help you. You should come with us.”

She put a hand on his cheek and said softly, “I’ll miss you, Theodore Douglas, but I have to do what is right for me, and you have to do what is right for you.”

“Then I’m staying, too,” said T-Dog resolutely.

“No, you won’t,” said she.

And he did not. Whatever else they said after that, the man could not persuade Jacqui from leaving. She stepped into Dale’s trailer, eyes full of tears but with her head held high, and Daryl respected her for it. They gave the Morales family a lot of provisions and ammo, and he was not a fan of splitting up, although he understood the need to be with blood. If he had not been with Merle when shit hit the fan, he would have traveled the continent to get to him, or died trying.

Later, he was alone in the truck with Merle, who was sleeping more soundly than anyone should be able to at the moment. Daryl did not mind the quiet, he was used to it, relished in it, actually, but with Merle nearby, he would have given anything to hear that loud mouth of his. Still, Daryl did not say anything to fill the silence; what was there to say?

His thoughts drifted to the group.

There was Dale Howard-Horvath, or whatever. He was not a bad guy, but annoying, always on about something, clearly having enjoyed a good, unremarkable life that allowed him to ponder about culture, ethics and shit. Still, he was okay. He was clearly afraid of him and Merle, though, always viewing Daryl as if he would blow the lid at any second. It put Daryl on edge.

Then there was Glenn, in many ways a younger version of Dale, just as jittery around the Dixons as Dale, but more open about it; he reminded Daryl of a trembling doe, behaving like prey. He had a good head though and was not a total snooze-fest unlike the majority of the group; the kid obviously liked to have some fun no matter how dark everything was.

Jacqui was alright; he liked her. She knew how to handle herself, but T-Dog’s earlier comments gave Daryl a bit pause. While Dale and Glenn were alright on their own, she could be a bit lost in this group.

There was nothing he could about that, though.

The Peletiers were reduced down to two. Thankfully, the cancer of the family had been removed. Carol reminded Daryl of his own mother and every other woman who had been beaten by their husbands; well, that was her problem, not his. He was a bit concerned about the little mouse, though. The girl was incredibly quiet and downtrodden, and Daryl hoped she gained confidence fast or they would lose them both to this unforgiving world.

That left the Grimes family and God, what a mess!

When they had first approached camp, Daryl had gotten a far too explicit view of what Shane and Lori were up to in the woods. Thankfully, Merle had not witnessed it or he would have mocked Daryl for the rest of their lives. In the beginning, he had been convinced that these two were the annoying, cocky boy’s parents (if _he_ had mouthed off at his parents _once_ the way that kid was doing all the damn time, he would not have been able to sit for a _week_ ), but one night at the camp made it clear that this was not it. They knew each other, yes, but they kept each other at a distance (if they were not out fucking in the woods, apparently). Then, Rick Grimes returned.

This would not end well.

Daryl did not particularly like Grimes and the feeling was mutual, but Shane was a fucking psychopath, practically the poster boy for ‘use of excessive force’ and Grimes was likely the tag-along who backed up his friend without hesitation. If Walsh decided to get rid of Merle and Daryl, Grimes would go along with it. When that day came, Daryl just hoped it would go over peacefully.

They were stopped by a huge graveyard of cars and dead people, no walkers, though, and part of the group was pulling supplies while the rest discussed the best way of how to get past this mess. Ultimately, they decided to take one of the sideroads, hoping to be able to circumvent any more problems. Daryl kept a close eye on Merle for whom the carb cravings had started, and he was wolfing down the sweets Daryl had gotten him. Daryl had hoped that the sun exposure would have the positive side-effect of alleviating some of the worst withdrawal symptoms, but it was likely more of a delay rather than a replacement of symptoms. Just to be sure, he had gotten rid of all drugs in Merle’s stash, double- and triple-checked, kept the pain killers hidden in Dale’s trailer and stashed the antibiotics in the truck, just to make sure the idiot did not give in to the other cravings that would undoubtedly appear soon.

Merle was still anxious in a way that made Daryl nervous. This was his brother; afraid of nothing, yet he jumped at every unexpected sound. Daryl dearly hoped this was not permanent, and he kept wondering whether that anxiety had to do with the walkers that had made their way to the roof, or whether it was just the drugs. He did not know. This whole world had become a waking nightmare, and it terrified Daryl to realize just how close he had come to losing the only person in the world who had ever given a damn about him.

They took the sideroad, still with a silent Merle for company; he was awake now, though, inhaling the pile of candy Daryl had horded in the back of the truck.

“These motherfuckers actually showed you where they left me?” was the first lucid sentence Merle had uttered all day.

Fury was back and before Daryl could be relieved that Merle was behaving like himself again, his temper got the better of him, “Leaving you there was exactly what you deserved, you asshole.”

Merle, fully lucid, stared at Daryl with a gleam in his eyes that never boded well, “Really? I’m tied up for one night,” he grinned at his own, stupid joke, “and already, you want me gone.”

“I came for you, didn’t I?” barked Daryl. “Don’t you dare pin this on me. This was your mess, your fault, and I’m cleaning it up. Like always.”

“Is this the thanks I’m getting for looking out for you, huh?” retorted Merle aggressively. “My baby brother, all grown and independent.”

“Fuck you, I’m forty,” hissed Daryl, tired of Merle treating him like the frightened kid he used to be.

“Yes, Darlena,” drawled Merle, “and what major achievements you have to boast about.”

The verbal blow hit dead-center, as it always did. Daryl was the better hunter, but Merle was better at everything else, he was smarter, better at talking, insulting, fighting. He knew exactly what to say to shut Daryl up (or anyone, really. When Merle put his mind to it, Daryl was convinced he could render a fucking politician silent).

Daryl ducked his head, inwardly fuming as he continued to follow the trailer. Merle was not wrong, though. He was exactly the kind of semi-literate, good-for-nothing redneck the group thought he was – hell, he had seen how surprised they had been at the fact he could fucking _read_.

“I meant what I said,” said Daryl after a while, still angry. “I ain’t coming for you again. World’s not the same as it was. Next time you get high on meth, you’re on your own.”

Merle scoffed, but did not argue.

Next thing he knew, Daryl narrowly avoided crashing into the trailer, which had stopped abruptly.

“What the fuck? ‘S the chinaman driving that trailer, or what?” spat Merle.

Daryl put the car into ‘park’ and heard the snarl of a walker. Grabbing his crossbow, he was out in a second. There was a fat guy on the road, pushing a walker off of him. Another one had already been downed by Grimes’ colt. Daryl sent an arrow through the walker’s head, while Shane went up to the man on the ground and heaved him up.

“You bit?”

“No, no,” said he, “you came just in time. Thank you. How can I repay you?”

“Some shelter for the night would be great,” said Walsh.

There was a moment’s hesitation – understandably – as he looked from Grimes to Walsh to Daryl, but then he saw Lori, Carol and the kids, and Daryl could see the change of heart.

“Of course. Otis Jackson.”

That led to a round of introduction and Otis stepped into the trailer, so that he could give directions to the farm where he worked, a farm owned by a Hershel Greene; both Otis Jackson and Hershel, a farmer and veterinarian, had lost their wives to the walkers and they were wary of strangers.

_“Your act of kindness was a sign, though,”_ Otis had insisted. _“Hershel will grant you shelter. It is our Christian duty to be hospitable.”_.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Christian principles were the first thing to abandon this world.

Otis was true to his word and they were introduced to a sheltered, beautiful piece of land. Still, grief hung over that house like a cloud, old grief that had not come with the end of the world.

They did not talk about that grief, but on the first night, Daryl noticed the photos of a young Maggie Greene with a much younger girl by her side, her sister probably, but these photos stopped abruptly, the last one dating back about five years ago.

“Beth,” said Otis, pulling him out of his reveries. The rest of the group had settled for the night, with Daryl settling on the carpet in the living room, while Merle took the couch, already sleeping soundly. “She was Maggie’s sister. Died when she was twelve. Cancer. A real blow to the whole family. Made us wonder why God would take her so early.” Daryl nodded, not knowing what to say. Life sucked. God had nothing to do with that. He felt some kinship with Maggie, though. His eyes then drifted to the photo of a middle-aged, petite woman next to Otis.

“That’s my Patricia,” said the other man, sounding like he would weep any second now. “She was the light of my life.”

“You better find a new one then,” said Daryl honestly. “Can’t survive on dreams these days.”

Otis was quiet and Daryl wondered if he offended him.

“The others said you were a hunter,” said the older man after a moment.

Daryl nodded.

“At first light, we’ll get something for your and my people.”

Daryl nodded again.

And off they went. Their hunting tactics were quite compatible albeit near-polar opposites. Otis knew the farms and its surroundings like the back of his hand, and he was a passable tracker, but he was more of a patient lurker rather than someone to stalk through the underbrush. Still, they quickly found equilibrium where Daryl chased a doe into Otis’ line of fire. Despite their hunting ground being far enough away from the farm to avoid attracting walkers, the loud sound of the kill-shot had Daryl on edge.

Otis, too, nervously checked his surroundings while they decided to gut the animal back at the farm, so that the smell of blood would be concentrated to a single source rather than risking to leave behind a trail. The nice thing about Otis was that he did not talk much.

* * *

They stayed for two weeks, which was enough for Merle to recover almost completely. Hershel Greene’s ability as a vet came in handy (giving Daryl a rare opportunity to tease Merle for a change, who took it with more humor than he had expected).

_‘Should convince Walsh and Grimes to get checkups. A pig deserves an animal doctor,’_ Merle had sneered one evening.

_‘Good, then you’re in the right hands.’_

Grimes spent a not insignificant time of their days trying to convince Hershel to give up the farm and for the Greenes to join the group. Otis did not really participate in the conversation, but on their next hunting trip, the man said it was unlikely for Hershel to leave this place.

_‘As much pain as it brought him, this has belonged to his family and he loves this place.’_

_‘What about you?’_

_‘Doesn’t matter. I stand by him. He stood by me no matter what. All I can do is return the favor.’_

Daryl could respect that.

Meanwhile, the group was torn between staying on the currently safe farm and to make their way toward Fort Benning, which was a bit of an unknown entity at the moment. Like Otis and Hershel, Daryl looked to Merle who was openly playing with the thought of hitting the road, doing what they originally planned to do and leaving the group to their fate. The robbery was the only part of that idea that Daryl shot down without question; these people had done right by them and after spending two weeks of these people at least politely asking after Merle’s health and the women being kind enough to offer help regarding their clothes, it felt wrong to actively hurt the group. He did not discount the possibility of Merle and him making it on their own out there once Merle had gone through all the stages of withdrawal (which was still underway).

Daryl had initially declined the ladies’ offer – he took take care of his own things, thank you ever so much – but he was unwilling to leave a meth-craving older brother for longer than short hunting trips, so he had thanked them and taken the offer reluctantly. Carol was the one usually taking care of any clothes that needed mending or a wash, while Jacqui was in charge of feeding people, so they often communicated, with him being experienced in the initial stages of food preparation (meat, mushrooms and whatever else the forest provided that they were willing to consume), and her being the one to make it palatable for the group.

He was the first one to wake up that last morning on the Greene farm. They had to move on before all the roads to Fort Benning were as impenetrable as the primary route.

Merle had recovered well enough to travel and in extension, well enough to annoy everyone in the group, but they had not decided on kicking out the two brothers just yet (Walsh and Grimes may be pricks but they were smart enough to know that Daryl and Merle could be useful in his world).

It was strange. After a lifetime of being a waste of space, he was suddenly responsible for providing for a group of a dozen people. It made Daryl feel… irritable because he enjoyed it, but knew from experience that nothing he ever wanted came to pass or lasted, yet he was stupid enough to hope; hoping that they would, perhaps, actually want him around. Otis seemed okay with him, at least, but then Otis would not stay with the group. So lost in thought, he belatedly noticed that both Jacqui and Maggie Greene were both up, one heading for the chicken to get eggs, the other preparing breakfast in the kitchen.

“Heading out already? Getting meat for the road?”

“Kinda. If it all goes right, I’ll get enough to feed ourselves and leave the Greenes with a ‘thank you.’”

Hershel had let the men work the farm, just a bit, though he was not thrilled about it. He was obviously an independent soul who found it galling to ask for help, but Walsh – as much of an ass as he was – knew his way around a hammer, and the Glenn kid was nimble on his feet and retrieved some much-needed medication from town (and apparently shacked up with the Greene daughter, but then hopefully, Hershel had not noticed that).

“Good thinking,” said Jacqui, “I’m baking bread, my grandmother’s recipe,” she continued. “Also a ‘thank you.” She paused. “I wish they’d come with us.”

Daryl hummed, but did not say anything. The silence that followed was strangely comfortable. Given their tangentially related tasks and both being early-risers, they had spent quite a bit of time together. In fact, the only people Daryl interacted with more was Merle (obviously), Otis and possibly Carol, though that was a toss-up since the ladies shared the morning shifts. Carol, Jacqui and Daryl all enjoyed the quiet in the mornings and he no longer felt like he wanted to flee the room when he was alone with either Carol or Jacqui.

Without saying much, she grabbed a protein bar and some other provisions as well as a water bottle before he could as much as protest.

“If this food is still in there by the time you come back, I will force-feed it to you,” said she. If he were Merle, or knew Jacqui for longer, he might have dared say something along the lines of ‘ _is that a promise?’_ , but he did not and so, he kept his mouth shut and his head down.

A moan from the living room had Jacqui whirl around, terrified. It was not that kind of moan, though.

“Just Merle,” said he, and _shit_ , he had forgotten to fill up the water bottle and put some candy near his brother, but he was getting late.

“I’ll do it,” said Jacqui, obviously guessing (correctly) what Daryl was thinking. “Unless you think he-“

“He ain’t no wife-beater,” said Daryl defensively.

“I saw him capable of violence,” said she and Daryl could not hold her cool gaze.

“He wouldn’t hurt you or let you get hurt, trust m-“ He cut himself off, looking away, biting his lower lip. Why would his word have any meaning to her? He was Merle’s brother and if she thought Merle capable of hurting her, why would him refuting that belief have any impact on her?

“Oh, honey,” she sighed, and Daryl’s head snapped up, stunned. Her expression was much warmer than before. “Alright, we’ll feed him, don’t worry. You go out there and get me some nice rabbit or pig or whatever you find.”

Confused, Daryl left the farmhouse, nodding to Maggie who was returning from the barn with eggs from the chicken. The morning was nice and cool, and he enjoyed it for as long as it lasted. After two hours, he not only got the rabbits Jacqui wanted, he also caught the trail of either a large doe or small deer, and so he followed it, in the hope of making good of his promise.

That was when all crashed and burned.

A couple hundred yards later, Daryl heard the unmistakable sounds of humans nearby, living humans, not walkers. Judging by the sounds and voices, they were all male and there were at least two dozen of them. Silently, he drew closer, making absolutely sure they could not see him. He counted thirty men. Their leader and the crew around him reminded him eerily of Merle and his friends around a decade ago – the one time Daryl had thought he would lose his brother to a storm of drugs and violence – when he had his own little gang and Daryl had been cast aside. Daryl listened to a kid who was blocking the way of what was obviously the leader of the group.

“No, look, the Greenes… I grew up with Maggie. They’re good people, so just, why don’t we-?”

“Nice little farm is what you said, Randall,” growled the leader coldly. “A good place to wait out the storm, and now you’re chickening out. Nobody will touch your previous Maggie.” Daryl had seen that kind of smile before and it made his blood boil. “She’ll be all yours. Are there any other women on that form?”

“The farm-hand, Otis, has a wife, and there’s the step-mother,” ‘Randall’ continued quickly, “if they’re all alive. The little sister died, though, years ago. She’d be sixteen now.”

“Pity.”

Daryl was shaking with unaltered fury, but he knew that making himself known would be suicide and could endanger the group.

“No, look, please,” said the kid and to Daryl’s horror, the leader nodded, grabbed his gun and shot the boy through the head without hesitation.

“Well, we’ll find it from here anyway,” was the man’s reply. “Let’s go, boys.”

Daryl had never moved so quickly in his entire life. His chest ached because his lungs could not take in enough air as he ran and ran through the thick underbrush toward the farm, his bounty forgotten.

_“Everyone out!”_ he shouted as soon as he was within earshot. _“Out! Out! We’ve got to go. NOW!”_

Thankfully, in a world where the dead started to walk, nobody even thought of the boy who cried _wolf._ They were all out in minutes.

“Daryl, what-?”

“No time,” he barked at Grimes. “Gotta go now. Thirty men are on their way here and they ain’t friendly. If you want our boys to live and the women to be safe, we leave.” He looked from Grimes to Hershel, pleading for them to take him seriously.

Otis, however, listened immediately and he ran back to the house, “Maggie, pack your things, now.”

“Otis-“ Hershel protested and Daryl wanted to shake the man.

_“1 Timothy 5:8_ , doc.””

Daryl exhaled in relief. His brother, still a bit unsteady but alert and present, was a sight for sore eyes. Hershel whirled his head around staring at Merle, surprised.

Not batting an eyelash at the scrutiny, Merle quoted, “’ _But if anyone does not provide for his relatives, and especially for the members of his household, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.’_ Your house is about to burn. If you remain, so will your family. _”_

It was enough. The next couple of minutes were a frenzy of hurried movements. Thankfully, their group was ready to leave, so they only had to help the Greenes. By the time they drove off, Daryl’s breathing had normalized and the rush of adrenaline, which had allowed him to run this far, slowly subsided, exhaustion creeping up in its place. He exhaled sharply and slapped his own cheeks to dispel the tiredness sharply, and then took the driver’s seat. Merle could probably drive by now, but he did not want to risk it. They drove for several miles on side-roads, helmed by the trailer, which now held all members of the groups except for Daryl and Merle in their truck and Grimes family with theirs in order to conserve as much fuel as possible.

“Hell, what a way to wake up, brother,” exclaimed Merle, bursting with energy. They were nearing the fourth week of withdrawal, which meant they were still too close to meth cravings for Daryl’s comfort, but most of what was left now were occasional bouts of anxiety and some residual weakness from the fever he had contracted from his exposure to the sun. It was good, seeing him so animated. “Tell me about why we’re running away.”

He told Merle what he had seen and the memory was difficult to erase, “He was just a kid, Merle. Not older than Glenn or Maggie. They executed him.”

Merle’s silence weighed heavily on Daryl. His brother always knew what to say.

“Glenn’s the Chinese kid?”

“I think he’s Korean,” Daryl corrected absent-mindedly; Glenn had been very insistent about that and the courageous kid deserved his respect.

“Whatever,” muttered Merle. “I hope we’ll stop before driving into Columbus; that town’ll be a deathtrap not unlike Atlanta.”

As if the others heard the complaint, the cars slowly came to a stop, a good ten miles away from the farm. It was mostly to eat something (Jacqui’s bread truly was excellent; he would get her that rabbit as soon as possible) and plan out their approach to Fort Benning.

“Northeast of Fort Benning, ground’s hilly,” said Merle, “Should scout the scene from there.”

The others listened and they used all the sideroads led by Hershel to move toward Fort Benning. They had to spent two nights out there, always praying they would not encounter a large number of walkers, but apart from a few stragglers, they were lucky.

As always, their luck did not last.

* * *

“Oh my God,” whispered Lori after Grimes had given her the binoculars to see what the situation at Fort Benning was. Daryl did not need them. He heard the moans from afar. Thousands of walkers had to be trapped in there behind large fences and walls.

For the first time since he had known him, Walsh looked utterly crushed and unsure; as much as Daryl wanted to rub it in Walsh’s nose, it was futile because there was no way to know, and Daryl had also held the hope that Fort Benning was the safe haven it had been advertised for.

“What do we do now?” asked Carol, frightened, holding Sophia close.

“I don’t know,” said Walsh, shaken, “I didn’t-“

“We trusted you,” said she angrily.

“Carol,” Jacqui said quietly, “he couldn’t know.”

“We need a plan on what to do next-“ began Walsh, but the crackling noise of the cop radio interrupted him.

_“-overrun. Do not approach. Fort Benning is overrun. Do not approach.”_

“Too fucking late for that,” snarled Merle, angrily.

Rick walked over and changed the channel.

_“-trapped inside of building 3-Alpha-6-Echo-Foxtrot-Mike-Tango. There are six of us. If anyone is out there, please, help us. Please. I repeat, this is Major Benjamin Davies. I am with Lieutenant Colonel Michael Anderson and his team. We have weapons, we have gear, but we don’t have food and we are trapped inside of building 3-Alpha-6-Echo-Foxtrot-Mike-Tango on the east-side of Fort Benning. If any extraction teams are out there, please, help us.”_

Major Davies sounded terrified, but it was the other name that truly caught his attention. He stared at Merle who had frozen in place. Without hesitation, he pushed himself past Grimes and grabbed the radio.

“This is Merle Dixon. Ain’t no extraction team, but how’s Anderson?”

There was a pause and then a deep voice replaced that of Major Davies, _“Dixon, that you? Holy fuck, you’re an answer to my prayers.”_

Daryl had never met him, but Anderson had been the one to speak out in Merle’s favor all these years ago when his temper had gotten the better of him and he had clocked his superior officer in the face. Anderson was the reason his sentence was reduced, and Daryl owed him for that. He exchanged looks with Merle who nodded.

“It looks bad from outside. How much have you secured inside?”

_“Well enough that we can reach the exit, but we have exactly one chance to get out-Major, what-“_

Another voice came through the radio, it sounded distorted as if it came from another radio.

_“Ben? Can you hear me?”_

_“Paul?”_ That was Davies’ voice and it sounded like a prayer. A commotion broke out on the other side of the still open radio and Merle frowned. The whole group had now gathered around the cop car. Daryl himself grabbed his gear, ready to get down there, regardless of what this conversation would bring. He owed it to Anderson.

_“I’ll be damned, Rovia. Now we have a real shot,”_ laughed the lieutenant colonel.

Paul Rovia said, _“Heard your transmission, sir. I’m in building 4-Alpha-7-Echo-Foxtrot-Charlie-Sierra. West-side. I have an idea.”_

Paul Rovia quickly relayed his plan: the building he was in had a siren. Turning it on would draw all the walkers nearby, be they within walls or outside, but it would also draw them away from the east-side, giving them a chance to escape. The plan was risky, but given the situation, there was no safe way out. While Anderson’s team discussed the merits of the plan, Grimes did not hesitate and volunteered himself to be part of the group that would go down there.

“I’ll go, too,” said Daryl, not explaining himself further.

Rovia had suggested that they should all meet up on the hills where their group stayed and that three people from the group was the perfect number in order to serve as guides, provide serious man-power without being slowed down in the process. Daryl agreed with that assessment, though he did not say anything. Merle was in no shape to come with them, but he would have his hand on a rifle, disposing of threats coming with them. Ultimately (to Daryl’s relief), the Glenn kid was the one who came with them and not Walsh who insisted on staying for protection.

Daryl led them down the steep path and cringed every time they stumped through the underbrush like elephants. Really, they were both so quiet on asphalt, it was annoyingly impressive how loud they were. The descent took them an hour and once they were in their position, Merle would inform Anderson, and thus, Rovia.

The next minutes were tense, waiting for something to happen, until finally, the siren started. The walkers that had been aimlessly roaming about instantly roused and approached the source of the noise. It was bone-chilling, hearing the sounds of hundreds of feet purposefully walking in one direction.

“Let me know when we have to move,” whispered Daryl, facing the forest, just in case a walker saw them and attacked.

Minutes passed and more and more walkers appeared until finally, something happened.

“There they are,” hissed Grimes.

Daryl turned and his stomach churned.

Seven.

_Shit_ , one man down.

Unbidden, Rovia’s words came to mind, _‘The people who were bit, are already gone, even if they survive the immediate attack. They_ will _die. Sir, I know this goes against your core principles, but if one is bit, you have to leave them behind.’_

Anderson’s reply had been no less chilling, ‘ _Don’t worry, Rovia, we’ll go out with a bang.’_

Grimed, Glenn and Daryl positioned themselves as planned, circumventing the wall that enclosed the base before running up to the high-security fence that once served as a second line of defense. Daryl stood in the middle, Grimes and the kid each around twenty yards to the side in order to draw off walkers. Fearing that gunshots would draw them, they would simply be standing there as sentries, making sure that fewer stragglers would nip at Anderson and his men. Meanwhile, Daryl would dispose of the ones directly coming for them with his crossbow.

It was _not_ a waste of arrows, he told himself as he shot the first walker near one of the soldiers. It was a _loss_ of arrows.

Big difference.

He knew that every missing arrow would put the group in danger in the future (less food, more reliance on loud weapons), but damn it, he would not watch these men being eaten alive by these things. Still, he was unable to help one of them, when a walker came from behind and tore into him.

The other soldiers whirled around, but their brother in arms simply hissed, “Go!”

He turned around and ran away screaming, _“Come on, you monsters! Get me! To me, come to me!”_

It would haunt Daryl, watching this hero and his last hurrah, especially watching him be torn apart.

Meanwhile, Anderson (unmistakably the oldest of the group, a few years older than Merle, just as burly and altogether solid) crouched down and propelled his men up the fence; the fence stood on a thin, solid four-foot wall and the total height of the structure was around seventeen feet. They needed the boost. Expertly, they climbed across the top, with one pressing down the wires on top without disturbing it (probably hoping to keep the fencing intact once more walkers came).

Daryl was the first to notice what Anderson was doing, yet he was too late. The last of his men was up and gone.

“The fuck you’re doing?” he hissed snapping an arrow right between the eyes of a walker that got to close to Anderson.

“Go,” was all he said. “Thank you for getting them out. Give my best to your asshole brother.” It sounded like a pet name, and Daryl shook his head.

“Hell no!” he barked and it seemed like Anderson’s men were thinking the same because they all were on their way of climbing back.

“You stay there, that’s a fucking order!” barked Anderson.

“Y’ain’t my CO, so fuck off!” Daryl barked back, but he did not manage to approach the fence, too focused on clearing the area as more and more walkers noticed them.

“Don’t be stupid, stop wasting arrows and get the fuck out of here.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Daryl saw movement, too swift to belong to a walker. The figure was slight, clad in a long leather coat, black pants and heavy boots, long hair tied back and a bandana-white covering his face. As the stranger ran, he grabbed the arrows and pulled them out of the walker’s skulls, swiftly and without slowing down. Apart from one that he used to stab another walker and another that was out of his reach, he managed to retrieve every single one of Daryl’s arrows. Pushing them through the fence so that Daryl could grab them, the stranger – though his voice quickly revealing him as Paul Rovia – said, “Thanks for the backup.”

Daryl heard the smile through the cloth, which covered his face.

“Now, sir, time for you to jump,” continued the slight man and, with remarkable strength, propelled Anderson up the fence who quickly caught himself and made it over the fence.

Daryl cursed and shot another arrow killing a walker near Rovia, but it turned out to be unnecessary.

Fuck, the man was fast.

With a flurry of kicks and two knives in hand, Rovia decimated the walkers in vicinity as he took a few steps back, inspecting the fence. Daryl tensed. The man did not have enough room, there was no way…

Apparently, there was. With a seemingly impossible move that had Glenn gasp, Rovia climbed the fence in what seemed like a single motion, did what seemed like a somersault across the wiring on top and landed on the other side like it was nothing. For a moment, nobody moved, too stunned, until Anderson, who finally found his own footing, ordered them to move to the other side of the first wall, so they would not further attract walkers.

Once there, they could afford a short breather.

“Who are you?” asked Grimes, his question clearly aimed at the impossible show of skill rather than identity, but Rovia pulled down his bandana, revealing a trimmed hippie-beard, smiled and said, “Paul Rovia.”

He then spread his arms in a mock-gesture and bowed slightly, “But my friends have taken to calling me Jesus.”

Daryl scoffed at the moniker, though the man certainly had skill. Still, he countered, “Ain’t much water to walk on in these parts of Georgia.”

Rovia grinned, but it was wiped from his face when a soldier, about Daryl’s height, rushed forward, put both of his hands on the newcomer’s cheeks and kissed him.

It all happened so fast that Daryl froze, watching the passionate exchange a few moments – Rovia, was nearly as surprised as Daryl at first, but then put his own hands up and returned the kiss – until he finally had the presence of mind to look away.


	3. Up a Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Daryl make it to camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your support!
> 
> I have a brief warning:
> 
> Warning – Uh, Daryl uses a homophobic slur. He doesn’t mean it, and he’s trying to make a compliment… You’ll see. And Merle. Just… Merle.

At first, Paul was taken aback. Their relationship had ended months before all this started, but then he felt Ben’s fingers trembling on his cheeks and he realized just how frightened his ex-boyfriend had to be right now, so all he could do, was to return the affectionate gesture.

Besides, Ben had always been a great kisser and emotions were running high. They let go off each other once Ben’s hands stopped shaking.

“Now that this is out of your system, major,” said LTC Anderson coolly, “perhaps we should get out of here.” Anderson was not a raging homophobe – he was quite ambivalent about Paul’s sexual orientation – but he was very conservative and had asked Paul to keep any PDA to an absolute minimum. He had not known Ben was gay, though.

Ben turned around and hissed, “What, you going to kick me out of the Army, sir?”

“Careful, major,” warned Anderson. “So, Grimes, I presume?”

He looked at the thin, gorgeous sheriff with the colt.

“Yes,” said the cowboy, shaking his hand firmly. “Rick Grimes. These are Glenn Rhee and Daryl Dixon.”

“Oh, I figured who this man was already,” was the response, looking at the archer with a broad smile who just nodded quietly in return, and visibly flinched when Anderson clasped his shoulder affectionately. “Sorry, your brother talked about you a lot, but we haven’t really talked since and you were just a kid at that time. Good to see you all grown up. One hell of a hunter you are. Merle was proud of you then and he’s certainly proud of you now.”

Anderson was not the kind of person to hand out compliments like candy; whatever the history between the older Dixon and Anderson, it was a big one. The younger Dixon’s reaction was more subdued, clearly uncomfortable with the praise.

“What now?” asked Sergeant Jason Finnegan, bringing them all back to the presence.

“Like we discussed,” said Paul. “You bring your men to safety. I will wait a bit and make sure that the dead, who make it out to come after us, are led away.”

“No way,” said Ben. He was no longer shaking, but his eyes were wide and scared, “You’re coming with us. Or I’m coming with you. You’re not doing that alone.”

“Look, you’re all exhausted, you’ve been inside that building. You’d slow me down and you know it.”

“I’m coming with you,” said Rick. “I know the way and-“

“Fuck no,” snapped the redneck coldly. His eyes were not quite as ice-blue as Rick’s but they were piercing, and his stance was aggressive. “You barely know how to walk down a simple hill. You’d get lost on the foot of a cliff. You and the kid bring Anderson’s men to camp. I’ll do it. Rovia can go with you.”

_Oh wow._

Paul knew exactly why Dixon was acting this way. He had not talked during their transmission, but – as Anderson had said – he was Merle Dixon’s brother, and Merle Dixon may be a good-humored guy around the LTC, but it did not take a genius to find out that he was an intolerant redneck with a big mouth. Daryl Dixon may be quieter, but not less of a redneck. Seeing Paul and Ben kiss probably fried his brain.

“The hills are steep. I climb at YDS level 5.12d. How about you?”

Dixon scoffed, “Still idiotic enough to wear a coat in Georgia. Yah might know how to climb, but you don’t know shit about the area.”

“Alright,” said Rick, rolling his eyes, clearly not too fond of Dixon himself. “We’ve got to move. If you two think you can work together, I think Daryl should go with Jesus. Daryl can lead him to camp and you can help each other out with whatever problems come up.”

Dixon did not look too happy, but he nodded, so did Paul. He had worked with worse people over the years. They waited in silence for nearly an hour, making sure no walkers followed the large group, then they made their way to camp as well.

Their pace was quick but slow enough to make sure the dead would follow them and not catch up with the group. They were quiet for the most part, listening for signs of the dead nearby. At some point, though, he could not bear the quiet anymore.

“Your skill with the bow is impressive,” said he, hoping that a compliment would break the ice.

“You got fucking balls for a fag,” was the reply. “Y’ain’t no pussy, which is good.”

Paul stopped dead in his tracks. So stunned by the unexpected slur, he actually laughed, “Wow, homophobic and misogynist in one sentence. I’m impressed.”

Dixon rolled his eyes, “Oh, fuck that. Y’all so sensitive.”

Paul felt a wave of real annoyance at the comment. Making sure he did not let his anger show, he hid it behind a smile, “’ _Us_ ’ as in ‘ _us pansies’_?”

“Fuck no, y’ain’t no pansy,” was the harsh, angry retort and Paul was receiving some very mixed signals here as well as a certain level on protective fury while he thought of friends who most certainly would have been dubbed as ‘pansies’ by Dixon. “You city slickers, all so tight-assed all the time.”

“I guarantee you that my ass isn’t always tight,“ quipped Paul. He grinned when he saw the look of utter confusion for a moment before the homophobic redneck looked away, his cheeks red. “And do I look like a city slicker to you?”

He gestured back at the distance they had just walked. He had not stumbled once and, while he was impressed Dixon’s quiet, near-feline grace and speed, Paul was in no way less nimble.

“With the noise you’re making, ya scare away half of the fucking forest and lead more geeks than necessary our way,” growled the hunter.

A bit taken aback, Paul took his time to listen, and he had to admit that he was much louder. He was silent... on concrete in buildings, but the underbrush was everywhere and he kept disturbing it. He observed Dixon who was heavier than him, but whose feet either gently flattened the underbrush or carefully avoided it without looking down. Imitating the man's moves, the forest appeared to fall near-silent; only their breaths and quiet steps disturbed the serenity.

Dixon looked back and nodded in acknowledgment; all hostility washed away from his face. Paul figured this was as close to a compliment as he got; and that was when he realized that he had been complimented before, and had figuratively ripped off the other man’s head in the process. They walked for several yards until they reached the first steep elevation. Never having enjoyed silent company, Paul decided to speak.

”It's not about being sensitive when it used to be a death sentence and, in some parts of the world, still is one. The term ‘ _faggot’_ dehumanizes gay men, and with that, violence easily follows. Or how would you like it if I called you a...” he paused, thinking of the worst redneck stereotype, “inbred, illiterate, methed-out piece of trash?” 

“Been called worse by friends.”

“Then you really should look into making better friends.”

The hunter did not speak, whether lost in thought or not being able to retort, Paul was unsure. However, he felt that there was something Dixon wanted to say, so he waited.

“Merle's friends more than mine,” muttered the man who had to be in his late thirties. “Ain't got any myself.”

_‘Bad Paul, don't think of adopting him, even though he looks like an abused street-mutt. You have nothing whatsoever in common. You might as well live on different planes of existence.’_

“Well,” his mouth decided to say, “I can be yours, but only if you never insult me or others for our sexuality again.”

Dixon stopped, startled. His eyes squinted. Suspiciously, he asked, “Why?”

“Didn't you hear what I said about dehumanization?”

“No,” grunted the older man, frustrated. “I mean, why be my friend?”

“It's the end of the world. Us humans have to stick together, regardless of where we're from. More of us means less of them.” Paul was sincere, but only partly; it was true that he thought humans should work together, but this was not how the world worked. Careful not to let any of his cynicism show, he smiled at the man who snorted, clearly amused.

"You're so full of shit." It sounded strangely fond.

Paul was a bit taken aback by this sudden change of heart: first, Dixon had clearly been uncomfortable with his sexuality, then he had given him a back-handed compliment insulting a number of Paul’s friends in the process and now, he was suddenly friendly.

If he was being honest, the offer of friendship had been a mix of being serious – because a man this grumpy should not look like a lost puppy-dog – and expecting Dixon to throw it right back in his face, even saying something along the lines of _‘Don’t need no fag for a friend.’_

Instead, after verifying that his offer was not a joke, Daryl instantly decided to call Paul out on his bullshit. This man was giving him serious whiplash.

“Seriously, though,” said Dixon, his blue eyes meeting Paul’s for a second before his face shifted again, looking at some trees to his left. “Why? You don’t know me.”

For just a moment, he seemed lost, as if the thought of them being friends was utterly ridiculous, and Paul was ready to challenge that belief.

“Isn’t this how all friendships start?” he asked. “In the beginning, you’re strangers, then you get to know each other, and you become friends in the process.”

“This ain’t no romantic comedy,” countered Dix-Daryl.

“Oh, trust me,” laughed Paul honestly, “you’re not my type. So, you’re safe. I don’t jump every guy I meet.”

Daryl’s cheeks turned bright red and it was kind of endearing to realize that the man was shy, despite being crass – or he was crass because he was shy, Paul would do his best to find out.

“So, who are you?” was the next question out of Daryl’s mouth.

“Excuse me?”

Taken aback, Paul tried to make sense of what the hunter wanted to hear.

“Y’ain’t no soldier. Don’t look like it, don’t behave like it, yet Anderson knows and respects you, so you work with the military. Consultant? How can you do the things you do? Why wear a fucking coat in Georgia during fucking August?” That last one was said with a mix of annoyance and mirth, a painfully obvious attempt at teasing.

“Hostage extraction,” Paul decided to start from the beginning. “I’ve worked with several governmental agencies and various military branches, within the US as well as our closest allies. My job was to get the people out when we assumed negotiations would fail. I’ve done hostage negotiation, but mostly, I extracted people. Basically, I’m the last chance of freeing someone without bloodshed, using the full-force of the military or the agency.”

“Wouldn’t have been able to help ‘em if not for you,” said Daryl after staring at him for a while. “Damn good last resort if you ask me.”

“Thank you,” said Paul quietly, touched. He had not expected this kind of reaction from the stoic man. “Without your crossbow, they would have all died, though, so you’re a damn good last resort, too.”

Daryl scoffed, not even considering the possibility, and Paul decided that this attitude was wrong. Before he could say anything, though, Daryl’s eyes inspected the cliffs in front of them. They were steep, but not really that much of a challenge for Paul.

“You sure you can-“ he began, but Daryl managed to find his way up a very thin trail that seemed almost hidden within the cliff. No walker would be able to follow. It was quite brilliant.

“You know the area,” realized Paul. “You grew up here?”

“Nah, I’m from up north, but my brother was stationed at Fort Benning. Snuck down here.”

Remembering Anderson’s words, Paul asked, “How old were you?”

“Twelve. Stayed here for a few weeks. Merle doesn’t know.”

So much information was buried in there, Paul had no idea where to begin. Instead, he followed Daryl. At the end of it, the hunter set a trap that would prevent any nimble walker from coming after them.

“Come on, camp’s two miles northeast. As the crow flies. Will be there soon.”

That was good to hear. He had not really rested that much more than Anderson, Ben and the others, he had not eaten more than some candy from a dispenser in over twenty-four hours and he was exhausted.

As if Daryl had noticed, he decided to stop and inspected the ground. Paul did not see a thing, “What?”

“Trail. Fresh, so fresh I can taste the venison,” said the hunter quietly, his eyes darting around before focusing on Paul. “If you go that way, you’ll hit camp in ten minutes. I’m going out.”

“Shouldn’t I come with you?”

“How many times have you tracked and killed game?” was the sardonic answer and Paul only answer was ‘uh’, which caused Daryl to shake his head. “Nope. I’m a’grab you when I need to extract a hostage.”

Paul chuckled.

“Alright then, happy hunting. The Germans have a phrase for it… It’s-blast it, something about the patron saint of hunting-“ he began thoughtfully. His German was awful, always had been. He had been friends with Lukas Hermann, the son of the German ambassador back in Japan, but they had been too busy learning Japanese to study each other’s languages.

“Nah,” said Daryl, shaking his head. “Y’er thinking _Petri Heil_ for the fishermen, based on Saint Peter being one of the patron saints for that occupation. Hubertus is the patron saint of hunters and there ain’t no phrase in German addressing that. They say _Weidmannsheil_. _Weidmann_ ’s an old German word for hunter, so it’s really just two dudes jerkin’ each other for doing the same thing. Ain’t no saints involved.”

Paul stared, speechless. He had _not_ expected that. Daryl clearly noticed because he clenched his jaw and inspected the ground.

“So, are you Catholic?” It seemed like the safest question to ask.

That elicited a snort from Daryl’s throat, “Nah. Merle likes history, mostly American and European history. I just listened.”

He could not look at Paul and the shorter man had the distinct impression that he would not like the detailed answer to that; he wondered if Merle was thinking more of the second half of the saying rather than thinking about occupation and patrons. Still, it had stuck with both brothers. That spoke for their intelligence and Paul would not make the mistake of underestimating either of them.

“So,” said Paul. “ _Weidmannsheil.”_ His German may suck, but his pronunciation was better than Daryl’s.

Daryl snorted, _“Weidmannsdank.”_

With that, he disappeared.

Not literally, but he was gone from sight and ear far quicker than Paul had predicted.

* * *

Like Daryl had said, he was at the camp in no time. Thankfully, LTC Anderson’s team was already present and they were currently being handed water and blankets by the women of the group, three white women – one much younger than the others, about twenty-one, an older woman in her early forties with short greying hair and a haunted expression on her face and a very thin lady in her thirties; she had black hair and was clearly the woman in charge, probably Rick’s wife – and a thin yet athletic African American lady in her mid-thirties to forties. Ben and the rest were talking to an elderly man with white hair, a heavy man in his forties and Glenn. Meanwhile, there were two kids, a girl and a boy, talking about what seemed like homework – if not even the end of the world could save you from algebra, all hope was lost, Paul thought wryly – next to the ladies. Anderson was talking to Rick who stood close to what had to be Shane Walsh, the other group leader Paul had talked to over the radio. Walsh was attractive, his tight shirt revealing a well-toned, muscular body. Next to Anderson was a man in his late forties, possibly early fifties. He was burly, strong and even from a distance Paul could tell he was dangerous. This had to be Merle Dixon, and – unless both were taking after only one of their parents – these two either had a different mother or father – or were unrelated – because as far as outer appearance went, they did not share a lot of similarities.

He decided not to sneak up on the group (more than he already had), so he announced himself with, “Found you.”

Dixon’s expression changed from cynical amusement to fury in two seconds flat, as he walked through the camp straight at Paul while Anderson was still making introductions. Now Paul could both see the familiarity, and the stark contrast. It was almost as if their differences were carved into their faces: Daryl’s eyes were sharp and cutting, just like his mouth, but underneath it all, Paul had seen some level of vulnerability (just like his features), a hint of what was going on inside of that mind. Merle was harsh and rough; his expression might as well have been carved into stone. His eyes were mocking, intelligent and icy. It made Paul shudder. He could take him, yes, but it would not be fun and Paul would certainly walk away with bruises.

“Paul!” Ben quickly came over. “You’re okay. Are you okay?” He wrapped his arms around him. “I was so worried.” Then, just like earlier today, he kissed Paul, witnesses be damned, and it really, _really_ was not what he had expected. Hell, Ben had been the one guy he had been ready to get serious with – finally having grown up and out of… and then Ben had broken it off because of his career. Paul had come to peace with it; their breakup had happened months ago, and Paul was over it; this newfound affection, though, it really messed with Paul’s head. Not that he wanted to get back together, but it was a shift in behavior Paul had not expected.

“Damn, has our military really deteriorated so much that fags are welcomed with open arms?”

Oh, wow… And he had thought _Daryl_ was homophobic. At least, Paul now knew where it came from. He put a hand on Ben’s chest to keep him from taking offense. Ben may be trained, but so was Dixon and while Ben might have reservations about beating someone to a pulp, Dixon did not.

“Oh, shut it, Merle,” said Rick sharply. “Ain’t none of our business.”

“What is my business is that this little piece of shit came back without my brother. Where’s he?”

“On a hunt,” said Paul lightly. “He caught a trail, decided to follow it. He can handle himself.”

“’Course he does. He’s a Dixon.” It was said with pride and conviction, as if that meant anything in a world where the dead returned to eat your flesh. It took the aggression out of the situation, though, and Ben was soon called off by his CO; he obeyed, albeit reluctantly. Merle Dixon gave him one last withering look and stalked back to a truck that was obviously his.

“I’m Jacqui,” said the African American lady, handing him a bottle of water, which Paul guzzled down after he managed to joke out a ‘thanks’, his tongue suddenly heavy as if only now he had realized just how thirsty he was.

“Paul Rovia, but my friends call me Jesus,” he said, breathing heavily from drinking so quickly.

“Jesus,” she repeated, lifting her eyebrows.

There was a ‘you serious, boy?’ in her tone that made Paul feel about two inches tall, so he hastily said, “Paul’s fine, too.”

She nodded at that, “Better. Are you hurt? We’re trying to figure out how much medical attention is needed for each person.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do better,” said Paul quickly, but the look Jacqui gave him forced him to say, “A bit tired.” Her expression remained unchanged and unimpressed. “And perhaps a tiny bit hungry.”

Now that food had become an even more precious commodity than back at the group home where food may not be sparse but definitely not abundant, Paul utterly loathed his metabolism. He still remembered the aching for food more often than not back in his youth… Not that anyone ever let him starve, but his body was a bottomless pit where you could throw food in and it never really affected his weight, even after going through puberty. On the contrary, when he was unable to eat due to illness or lack of provisions, he shriveled into nothingness. The problem was, now that he was with a group, he could not just hoard food like his instincts told him. He had to share.

She nodded at that, clearly having expected that answer, and she left briefly only to return with two protein bars.

“One for now, one when you need it,” said she sternly and Paul knew better than to argue. That, in turn, made her smile at him kindly. “Alright, sweetie,” the address made Paul smile. “You said Daryl’s off on a hunt, I better get ready for prepping some fresh meat. The man still owes me that promised rabbit, though.”

That, he had not expected. For some reason, he had expected animosity, perhaps even hostility, but instead, she sounded fond of Daryl; which just demonstrated to Paul that there was more to Daryl than met the eye.

It was late in the afternoon when the sound of a small bird echoed through camp; normally, he would not have thought much of it. Chickadees were common in this area after all, but it had Merle stand up and respond with a quiet trill that should not come from a man that size.

Seconds later, Daryl came from the underbrush, a dead doe hanging over his shoulders, its neck covered by a rag that was either red or soaked with blood, and he was carrying a string from where a variety of woodland creatures – mostly squirrel – were dangling.

Merle whistled in an appreciative, human manner, “Nicely done, brother. Told you that the Horton Scout would do the job.”

“Nah, man, should’a gone back for the Stryker. Was no way I could take her with the Horton.”

“Oooh,” now Merle was grinning as Daryl emerged from the underbrush. There was a considerable amount of blood on his shirt. “had to go down hard and dirty, eh? Wanna take a bath, Darlena? Hm? Someone to massage your feet?”

“Fuck you! Help me out, you lazy ass,” Daryl barked back. He looked to the heavy man, Otis, who came over and offered to take care of the smaller prey in Daryl’s hands.

“Thanks,” muttered Daryl. “Gotta cook ‘em up tonight. Doe’s for later.”

“Thank _you,”_ said Otis. “We couldn’t risk hunting with our guns because-well, as soon as we’re settled somewhere, I’ll help you set traps.” He paused. “If you show me the ropes.”

“Sure thing, man. Done it before?”

“Not for a while, actually. My daddy taught me, but since I learned how to hunt with a gun, it was never necessary.”

“Well, yah know the basics. Will learn the rest soon,” was Daryl’s confident answer. With that, he joined his brother who had immediately made a makeshift meat pole and they worked in tandem as they prepped the animal. All that, Paul had expected, but what caught his eye was Merle: for just a moment, when he thought he was unobserved, he looked at his brother with an expression both hard and soft, which indicated that he loved his brother with a ferocious intensity and Paul decided, in this moment, never to underestimate a Dixon’s depth. If he was lucky, though, he would mostly deal with the younger version of the two.

* * *

Okay, so, beefcake quickly turned out to be an asshole. Walsh was not obvious like Merle, who relished in being an ass, but Paul had dealt with enough would-be alpha males in his lifetime to recognize one when he saw them.

He did not dare questioning Anderson’s authority, but he was co-leader of this group and he let it show, not so much around the women or sweet Glenn, but he made his contempt for the Dixon brothers very obvious – clearly punching down on those lower on the popularity scale to elevate himself – and he clearly had a problem with Hershel and Dale, though he was much more subtle about that. He also thought he was subtle about his dislike for Paul, but he was not.

He smiled and inquired after his status as a civilian consultant, complimented him for what the others told him, but none of it seemed sincere. Not really. Paul wondered if Walsh perceived him as a threat – which would make him observant – or if there was some latent homophobia that made him act this way, or both. Time would tell, though.

It was evening when they were called to dinner. Jacqui and Lori handed out the food, while Rick gently let them all know that they would talk tomorrow about their plans. For now, they needed to eat and rest. Anderson thanked everyone for helping them, especially Rick, Glenn, Daryl and Paul.

“Just doing what I was quite literally trained to do,” said Paul with a smile.

“Not with the dead walking it isn’t,” was Anderson’s response to that.

Paul settled down between Glenn and Merle Dixon, of all people. Daryl was closest to the pot next to Jacqui and helped her and Lori handing out the food… to Merle’s delight ( _‘Ah, Darlena, keeping yourself busy in the kitchen, I see.’_ ). Merle snatched the bowl with the extra helping that Jacqui had clearly intended for Paul, now ignoring the food he had been given earlier (and already eaten from).

“Merle,” sighed Daryl, already having settled down with his food, though he had not taken a bite yet, “fuck off, this ain’t-“

Lori cleared her throat loudly and she nodded her stern head at the kids, “Please, Daryl-“

Merle already ate from the bowl with relish, grinning at Paul, goading him.

Not taking the bait, Paul said to Jacqui, “It’s okay.”

Jacqui’s lips were pursed, but she handed her own bowl food to Paul, and Daryl gave her his, while taking the food Merle had already dug into earlier.

“Hey, this ain’t-“ protested the older brother, but the hunter quickly interrupted him.

“You ain’t gone nowhere, Merle," hissed Daryl. “He did a fu-freakin’ marathon today saving Anderson and his team and he’s got the metabolism of a robin. Gotta eat. He’s dead on his feet.”

Paul had not realized just how obvious he was. He was usually better at hiding… or Daryl was just very observant.

“Pussy,” scoffed Merle.

Daryl snorted, “He ain’t interested in that.”

What followed was a moment of blissful silence as the younger brother had effectively struck his brother dumb. Then, he snorted scornfully, but did not say anything about Paul’s food again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paul is thin and quite short, my headcanon is that the guy has a high metabolism he cannot keep up with.
> 
> References:   
> \- https://archery360.com/2016/12/02/evolution-daryl-dixon-crossbow-king/  
> \- https://de.wiktionary.org/wiki/Weidmannsheil


	4. On a Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group decides where to go next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the support, I will reply to all of your comments this weekend! 
> 
> Next chapter :)
> 
> WARNING:  
> Daryl still figuring shit out, so some of his thoughts may seem inappropriate to members of the LGBTQ+ community and their allies. Merle. He exists.

It turned out that his new _friend_ (Daryl did not believe this would last. Not that Paul seemed flighty, but nobody wished to befriend a Dixon) had actually been some online celebrity in his youth.

_Dinner had ended and Paul conveyed to the group how he had been sent by military’s higher-ups to secure Dr. Candace Harlington, infectious disease specialist at the Center for Disease Control and one of the world’s biggest hopes to get this mess under control. However, she died before he could set a foot inside of the building. The only person left alive and breathing at the CDC had been her husband, Dr. Edwin Jenner. By the time Paul was sure there was no information to retrieve and no people to extract, any contact to military command or otherwise had fallen silent causing him to be stranded at the CDC debating where to go. That was when Dr. Jenner picked up the radio call for help from Fort Benning, so this was where he had gone._

_Daryl understood that. For Merle, he would have braved the dangerous road to Atlanta all by himself, too, even if Grimes and the rest had not helped. It made sense that Paul would feel this way about his boyfr-lov-whatever. What Daryl found strange was that Paul continued to sit between Merle and Glenn instead of sitting with Anderson and his team. Okay, so he did not know anything about that kind of shit, but if_ he _had found his b-lov-par-whatever in this unforgiving world (or in the old world), Daryl was convinced he would have been more like Grimes, not letting go of his wife for hours at a time. Perhaps, their relationship was new and all that. What the fuck did he know?_

_Before he could dwell on these thoughts further, Glenn exclaimed, staring at Paul._

_“Oh my God.”_

_“Jesus is fine,” quipped Paul, his eyes gleaming mischievously in the shadows of the fire. Merle snorted._

_“No, you are_ Jesus _.”_

_There was a long pause after that statement._

_“I mean… Parkour. You did parkour a decade ago, under the name ‘Jesus’. You were at a competition in Atlanta in the early 2000s. You obliterated Daredevil.”_

_Again, silence followed that statement. Paul looked surprised, but he did not correct him. Instead, he smiled. Glenn blushed._

_“I was twelve, okay? Daredevil was like the best runner in Atlanta. He was Korean, too, so he was my hero and then you got there and just… Damn, I wanted to hate you, but you were all friendly and respectful. You even spoke Korean! I… was a fan. Followed you after that, but then you kind of disappeared. That was pre-Youtube,” he offered to the rest of the audience. “These kind of videos you only found on specific sites. What happened?”_

_“I went to college,” answered Paul, still smiling, but Daryl had the impression that the smile did not reach his eyes. Nobody else seemed to notice, though, or they were quiet about it._

_“Oh,” Glenn looked vaguely disappointed. After a moment’s hesitation, he continued. “Can I ask you something?”_

_“Go ahead.”_

_“As I said, I kind of… followed you. You never had sponsors, usually tagged along with others, but you were one of the best. Did you ever think of-I don’t know, going pro? Being a mentor for the youngsters once you hit thirty?”_

_“I taught kids how to defend themselves, mostly,” said Paul, still smiling, “but no, not parkour. I-it’s dangerous and potentially life-threatening. It’s one thing, risking oneself, but watching the youngsters do potentially bone-breaking stunts? No, not me.”_

_“I get that,” said Glenn, “still… you were_ good _. Definitely the best I ever saw live.”_

_“Thank you,” Paul smiled. “I was passable.”_

Daryl had no idea what kind of shit you had to do in order to be considered _passable_ with the parkour people, but considering the acrobatics he had witnessed, he had to have been some kind of ninja when he was in his early twenties.

Thinking about his _friend’s_ abilities was much more fun than listening to Anderson, Grimes, Walsh and Merle argue about what to do next. Paul was listening mostly, just like Daryl; the members of Anderson’s team knew better than to butt in and helped organizing the camp. The Greenes, Dale and Glenn stayed back, too, so did Carol, Jacqui and Lori, but he really wished they would speak up. They would be able to beat some sense into these stubborn motherfuckers.

“Our best shot is looking for another military base,” said Walsh sharply. “Fort Benning fell, but that’s not the only base there is. Cities are out, but camping outside isn’t an option. We are too vulnerable out here. We need more manpower, more guns, we need to fortify wherever we end up, better yet, if that place already got walls. Thus, military base.”

“Fort Gillem closed years ago. Fort Gordon was abandoned when shit turned sour and all troops transferred, guess where? Fort fucking Benning! Fort McPherson was overrun weeks ago,” said Merle. “’S why we had to go all the way down here. Remember? Fort Benning was supposed to be _the_ place for Georgians to regroup. They abandoned the north. Fort Stewart and Hunter Army Airfield are possibilities, but also a dead-end. Once we get stuck by the coast… Without a ship, there won’t be no way out.”

“What about Camp Frank Merrill in Dahlonega?” asked Grimes.

“Gone,” said Daryl. “Wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“Colonel, what’s your plan?” asked Grimes again, genuinely looking for the CO’s opinion.

“Our orders were clear. Go to Fort Benning, assist. If Fort Benning’s gone, aim for Fort Bragg as soon as possible.”

“That’s nearly five hundred miles!” exclaimed Merle. “You’ll never make it this far. Not with the place crawling with the freaks and only five men for backup.”

“My orders are not as unreasonable as you think,” said Anderson. “We can make it.”

“We should go with you,” said Walsh.

“No,” was Anderson’s immediate reply. “The road _is_ dangerous and you’re too many for us to protect if we get overrun. If we were to take you with us, we wouldn’t be able to move quickly.” He looked to Walsh. “Before you ask: manpower’s good when you’ve got walls, but on the road, every additional person’s a threat because it slows you down. The group’s too big now. We’re leaving. We need to head for Fort Bragg. Merle, you and your brother, you can come with us, but I feel your skills are needed with this group more than it is needed with us.”

“Look,” said Grimes urgently. “We need shelter, too, splitting up isn’t a good-“

“Last time we heard anything, DC and surrounding areas were mostly safe,” said Anderson. “Civilians should head that way. It’s the safest-“

“Wait, you don’t want us to join you on a five-hundred-mile track, but want us to take an eight-hundred-mile track. Are you fucking serious?” asked Walsh angrily.

“I’m not telling you to go all the way immediately. You should take it slowly, go step by step. Maybe you’ll be lucky and you’ll find something more stable along the way.”

“Or death,” barked Merle. “Either option’s shit. The likelihood of making it this far ain’t good.”

“We need a place to stay,” said Grimes, sounding desperate and Daryl perked up at the tone. He wanted to thank him sarcastically for stating the obvious, but there was panic in that voice, nothing obvious, but an urgency that had Daryl’s immediate attention.

Paul frowned and Daryl realized that he was the only other person who noticed. His _friend_ – however long that would last – was observant.

“Rick, what is it?” The shorter man asked gently, in a way that was difficult to refute.

“Lori’s pregnant.”

It burst out of Grimes as if he could no longer keep it in. This information was obviously only meant for the small group of people discussing future plans because, despite his desperation, he had the sense to hiss it.

“ _What_?” Walsh shouted. “Lori’s _pregnant?_ ”

He stared at Lori whose eyes went wide, surprised and shocked. Daryl could not blame her. Merle and Daryl knew about Walsh’s little outings with Lori, of course, back when Lori had obviously thought (or been told, Merle had once pointed out darkly) that her husband was dead.

Daryl could only imagine how hard it had to be for the women in this world without access to prenatal healthcare. Not that it had been fun beforehand. Heaven only knew how many nephews and nieces he would have if Merle’s numerous women had not used birth control. Merle did not like using rubbers. Daryl just hoped Walsh did or this would get ugly fast.

“You’re pregnant?” asked Dale.

Jacqui – bless her for her sense – intercepted and let Lori know that she needed her help with something, making sure nobody pestered her. Lori got a hold of her son and followed Jacqui.

“We need shelter,” repeated Rick, looking after his wife. “Going with you to Camp Bragg isn’t an option. We’d slow you down. Going to DC isn’t an option either. It’s too far without obvious pay-off”

“There’s a small military camp, 100 miles northeast, north of Macon, on the edges of the Piedmont National Wildlife Refuge,” said Paul, causing everyone to look at him. Trust the ninja to pull impossible solutions out of his ass.

“What camp?” frowned Anderson.

“It won’t show up on any maps. It’s a SERE-training camp,” said Paul.

Survival, Evasion, Resistance, Escape.

No wonder Paul knew about it. He probably taught the _Escape_ part of it.

“Which branch?”

“Army. Green Berets, to be exact,” elaborated Paul. “Most of the base is underground, including training facilities, but we used the forest for exercises, too. Still, you only know where it is if you’ve been there.”

“It’s on the way, too,” said Anderson. “It’ll allow my men to scout the area ahead. We’ll post a warning if we run into trouble.”

And that was it. Decision was made.

The group would head for that camp site and stay there until the baby was born. If the place could be fortified and made livable, they may even stay there, or hit the road and try for a safer place. Daryl got behind this plan; Merle, though, he was thinking of joining Anderson’s man for quite a while, Daryl could see it. However, to his surprise, Merle never said anything.

Paul’s boyf-lov-whatever, he decided to stay with the group rather than his team. Daryl could not fault him for that, though it surprised him that Paul actually tried to talk him out of it, which gave Daryl the distinct impression that these two were no longer together. Why had Ben kissed Paul, then? Twice apparently, according to Merle who complained about the deterioration of morals at the military for what felt like hours after dinner and before Daryl finally fell asleep. Daryl had just shrugged his shoulders at the comments. Paul may be a hippie-fa-gay, but he was fucking capable, too. He put most normal men to shame, including Anderson and his team.

Farewells were quick, neither Anderson nor Merle being particularly sentimental. There was an unexpected pat on the shoulder from Anderson that had Daryl on edge. The LTC noticed and calmly removed his hand. Without commenting on Daryl’s reaction – he had flinched like a fuckin’ pussy. _Coward_ – Anderson addressed the rest, “Next time we see each other, the United States Armed Forces will take this country back from the dead. One mile at a time.”

“One mile at a time,” repeated Grimes. “Good luck!”

“Same to you.”

Anderson and his team – without Paul and Ben – left on the same day, taking some supplies with them and handing out some of their own (mostly ammo, some survival gear). The group decided to stay another day and leave early the next morning. Daryl was roped in helping out Carol who was having trouble with the tent they had scavenged for her and the girl (since the other one had been splattered with Ed Peletier’s insides). In exchange, she offered to wash his and Merle’s clothes again, and did not take no for an answer when he hesitated. Merle was much better now; Daryl could take care of their own things. Merle, the asshole, more than happily took her up on the offer and proceeded to flirt with her.

“Leaver her alone,” Daryl growled at his brother when he saw Carol’s discomfort as she walked away with their dirty clothes.

“Oh, you callin’ dibs on her, baby-brother?” He grinned, amused and, as annoying as his constant mockery was, Daryl was just relieved that the anxiety that had plagued Merle these past weeks, was almost entirely gone.

“Fuck off, Merle,” said Daryl.

“She’s hot, alright. A bit mousy, but other than that, I’d love to-“

He walked away before he had to listen to the details and helped Carol get ready.

“Thank you,” said the girl, Sophia, quietly, after he put her bag into Dale’s trailer. The kid was terrified of him and this was the first time she had even dared to look at him.

“Sure,” said he curtly, not knowing what else to say. He did not want to scare her further.

“Thank you,” said Carol, once the girl skipped off with Carl to do some more math and shit under close supervision of Lori (who was pregnant. Shit. She was too skinny already. He would have to hunt again and soon, for the kids and her. He vaguely remembered his mother talking about needing more vitamins. They would have to look out for that. What were the pills the doctor had given her again? Folic acid, or something. Was too long ago.).

“Hey,” said she gently. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Daryl shrugged, “Ain’t nothin’. Just that Lori she’ll need some vitamins.” He did not elaborate, figured Carol would know who he was thinking about.

She smiled and the hunter had no idea why.

“Yeah, she does. She needs a lot of things. I’ll make a list. With some brand names to make sure you men know what to look for.”

“Write down all you know.” Hell, the ones going out on runs would probably be the Korean kid who – while fast on his feet and quick on the uptake – knew nothing about pregnancy unless he had a much younger sibling (the way he looked at Maggie made it obvious he had never had a girl for long, much less impregnated one), Paul – who was gay and did not have to worry about any of that – Grimes, who had probably left that up to Lori, and possibly Walsh, who definitely had not assisted any woman through pregnancy outside of his job as a cop. Daryl knew some shit, but definitely no brand names and stuff. Merle might, though. He had helped Ma with… and when that ended in pain, he had been there again with Daryl (like his older brother always enjoyed reminding him). He would ask him.

The hand on his forearm was unexpected and he drew back reflexively, half-expecting a blow. Her expression was all warm and he wanted to run away.

“Come on, let’s go help Jacqui,” she said. He could do that.

* * *

They were so busy all day, he almost had to sneak out in order to get some hunting done.

“Need some help?”

How did that freaking ninja sneak up on him? Heart racing, but trying not to let it show, Daryl turned to Paul who was leaning by a tree right by the clearing that led to the camp. It made sense for someone that slight to be sneaky, but it sure as hell took Daryl by surprise; after all, he had watched Paul plow through the forest like a buffalo before Daryl pointed it out to him… Paul had picked up on being quieter quickly though, much quicker than most, so it should not have startled him this much.

“Nah. Just gettin’ some more meat. Some critters, perhaps some more food. Ya know, with being so many now, and Lori’s gotta eat for two and the kids…” Not to mention Paul. Now that was someone Daryl would have to keep an eye on; slight and active, he was probably burning calories even while sitting down.

“Yeah, we should do a run to the local pharmacies soon, some prenatal vitamins are in order for Lori. Hell, vitamins in general. We need to stock up,” said Paul.

“Carol’s working on the list, but feel free to pitch in.”

“Carol, hm?” There was a broad, amused smile on his lips and Daryl felt like he was being mocked.

“What the fuck’s your problem?” he spat, advancing Paul quickly who did not even have the sense to break his relaxed stance. Not knowing what to expect, Daryl came to a stop a few feet in front of Paul, unwilling to attack someone so obviously uninterested in a brawl. “Something you wanna tell me?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry,” was the easy and calm reply. “It just looked like she likes you, is all.”

“What are you, twelve?” asked Daryl. “Ain’t no gossiping school-girl.”

“Neither am I. I’m just… You don’t seem to be like the guy who-all I’m saying is that she’s definitely interested.”

“I’m a real catch, alright,” Daryl snorted disbelievingly. What had the man taken? Given he looked like a hippie, it was either shrooms or weed. Probably weed. He did not look like he was high, though.

“Come on, you’re a good-looking guy,” Paul teased with a smile.

Daryl scoffed.

Coming from the prettiest person in camp. Maggie and Glenn were still kids, so they did not count, and the women were all too thin, especially Carol and Lori. Mostly, he saw parallels between Jacqui and Paul, both around the same height, thin and athletic, but while she was probably around Merle’s age, give or take a few years, with very long limbs that made her look just a bit too thin and older, Paul looked thin and compact; he had that joyful kindness about him – the fucking hippie ninja – that gave him an air of youthfulness without actually being a kid.

“You are,” grinned the hippie, so obviously joking that Daryl just shook his head, suppressing a grin that he felt creeping up out of nowhere. “I’d totally bang you if you were gay.”

Horrified, Daryl looked around to see if Merle overheard that idiotic, off-hand comment, “Fuck off. Y’aint. Know your type.” He did not have to point out Ben to elaborate further. “And I’ve seen the people you check out.”

He had seen the other man’s eyes roaming up and down Walsh’s trimmed body and Grimes’ leaner frame. He was no Rick or Shane; the latter asshole was currently strolling around camp like he owned the fucking place, his shirt so skin-tight it made Daryl uncomfortable just looking at him.

Paul followed his gaze and now it was his turn to scoff, “Yeah, no thanks. Don’t get me wrong, he’s hot, but I’m not into dicks.”

“Thought was that was exactly what you were into.”

When no instant retort came, Daryl looked over to his-to Paul and found him staring, mouth hanging open, utterly shocked and the hunter felt like he messed up.

He was not good at this.

The whole friend-thing.

There was a reason he did not have any. He always offended people… well, except for Merle; Merle always gave back as good as he got.

_Sensitive hippie prick._

Daryl had – apparently wrongly – thought they could bond over this shit, that Paul did not seem to like or trust Walsh either.

After another moment of silence, Paul burst out laughing, “Yes, but not that big of a dick, I assure you.”

Daryl felt like he could breathe again, and then, just to see how far he could push the joke (reckless idiot that he was), he said, “Ain’t got a size kink, then.”

This time, Paul doubled over, giggling, and Daryl felt his lips twitch at the sight. It always made him feel good, making other people laugh; not that he had that opportunity often.

“You, Daryl Dixon,” said Paul, his bright eyes sparkling with amusement, “are one funny guy.”

Not knowing what to say, Daryl just shrugged inspecting the ground in front of him.

_“Weidmannsheil.”_

This was said fondly causing the hunter to look up in surprise. It sounded almost like Paul was serious about the whole friendship thing.

_“Weidmannsdank.”_

With that, he left, feeling strangely good about himself. Sure, Paul was a smiler, but here, it had felt like he meant it. And that was not something he should take for granted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Dr. Candace Harlington not being called Dr. Jenner. It is very common for female researchers, especially if they are well-established and get married later, to keep their maiden names because this is what you publish with. So, at the most, she would call herself Dr. Harlington-Jenner, not Dr. Jenner. Since she’s a celebrity in her field, the likelihood of her having kept her maiden name is high.


End file.
